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Life is a funny thing. Often strong, and yet paradoxically weak. And these simultaneous threads run parallel to each other each and every day in just about every scenario imaginable.
At least, that's what you'd gotten to contemplating as you sat on the platform outside the train engine with Xefros leaning against you. You think. Your brain is kind of muddled right now, so if it's waxing philosophical or poetic, it could be partially due to delirium. But it doesn't make the thoughts any less beautiful or moving.
A few moments prior, when the door leading from the clown car had closed, it only took a couple of steps before Xefros' leg buckled beneath him, sending you dashing forward to catch him before his face could meet the metal underfoot.
"ow…" he whimpered. "i… sorry joey its…"
"shh, no, it's okay, i've got you."
He's considerably weighty in a muscular way, so you had to pivot yourself in a manner that made it easier to support him without letting the both of you tumble to the floor in an awkward heap (not that the "drunk tripod" way you were standing together wasn't already awkward). But in doing so and trying to calculate your next move, you realized you could feel his heart pounding up against you.
At this, a million thoughts tried to flood your already crowded brain, forcing tears to your eyes that stung as you tried to blink them away and carefully lower both him and you to the platform where you'd both be more comfortable. He's facing away from you from that point onward, but he doesn't need to see you to know exactly how you're feeling.
"joey?" he asked, concern washing over his face, further bruised from his encounter with the large clown woman in the room left behind.
You're holding him close, unable to fight the tears spilling down your cheeks as your arms, gripping him gently like the best seatbelts money can buy, can feel every adrenaline-frenzied yet exhausted thump coming from inside his chest. If it weren't for you fighting with flexibility and creativity in the face of perverse clown "games", here was a heart--his--that would not be beating right now. What a sobering realization, that he was literally alive and drawing breath next to you because of something you did.
He lifts a hand and touches your arm, the side of his forehead moving a bit as his brow creases gently in concern. You assume with how you're hugging him that he can, in all likelihood, feel your own heartbeat against his back. And you wonder if he's even having the same realization that you are in kind; after all, if it weren't for him tearing through the clown car after Baizli, yours was a heart that wouldn't be beating right now either.
It would've taken only simple actions from your aggressors to end both of your lives, and yet the strength of your resolve extended your hands out to each other to hold on tight and snatch you both out of the gaping maw that was death, one after the other. And those hands now physically held the both of you, tightly, or reassuringly, each set not wanting to let the other go.
You can tell Xefros wants to say something, but he's holding back… which you guess is just as well. Given how exhausted you both are, you just want to sit there for a while, if he's okay with it. Hopefully he is. You don't have the energy to do much else at the moment.
Thankfully life itself doesn't need much energy to simply sit and enjoy the near-miraculous reassurance of another's presence. And if there's anything you want to say--you do, in fact: two very important little words--you let your heart say it for you.
"i'm here."